


Honey, My Honey

by CookieCatSU



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Fenton is slightly less of an idiot, Gyro is an idiot, M/M, certainly more emotionally aware, in Spanish and in Japanese, terms of endearment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:13:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28075260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCatSU/pseuds/CookieCatSU
Summary: Gyro's certain, and it's of his professional opinion, that he must be sick. What else could possibly explain the frenzied beating of his heart?It certainly has nothing to do with a no longer intern turned co-worker. That's crazy.
Relationships: Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera/Gyro Gearloose
Kudos: 91





	Honey, My Honey

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting abandoned in my docs for ages. Now I bestow it upon ye.

Doctor. Dr. Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera. He really liked the sound of it. He was a true doctor of science now (okay, not quite, since he'd yet to obtain his actual doctorate, but he was working on it presently!), and his new title, his new promotion, comes with perks.

He has his own desk now, for example, within the main lab and no longer crammed in a bathroom stall. There's ample space for all his plane models lined at the front, and he doesn't have to worry about toilet water getting anywhere it shouldn't, and there's a compartment for all his papers, and he can easily interact with any of his co-workers because their only a shout away at any given moment, not so isolated like before.

He also has a direct say in nearly all upcoming projects (a dream come true, really), except, of course, for the few that were Gyro's  _ personal _ projects.

The inventor let's him spare a glance at the specifications for the new audio system he's building for Boyd, before snatching them back, placing them on his cluttered desk with a huff, and a sidelong glance.

"Okay, that's enough ogling, Dr. Cabrera. Move along. There's still work to be done"

That of course brought him to Gyro, and the issue of their relationship. Or the lack thereof. Or that that lack seemed to be dissipating, the once empty distance between them suddenly filled with passionate debates and amused quips and wild discussions about equally wilder theories, as well as long talks about which is more viable, solar or thermal power, vaulted atop the half built model they toil over together.

"It's solar power, obviously" Gyro scoffs, tongue in cheek, less dismissive and more, 'I can't believe I'm sitting across from such an idiot' amused. Because of course.

Fenton laughs, "Agree to Disagree"

He turns from the screw he's tightening, to look at his coworker (his equal, no longer his superior) to find he's leaning forward, wrench half hanging out of his splayed hand, glasses smudged with oil. His expression is perfectly dissatisfied (edging between true disbelief and disgust, amusing in how exaggerative it is).

"Ugh. Really, Fenton? It'd expect you'd have better taste" But there's no real bite, there.

Then there's that. Dr. Gearloose has been a lot nicer to Fenton lately. Considerably nicer. It started pretty small, once they'd brought Boyd back home from Tokyolk: he didn't snap as soon as Fenton opened his mouth, anymore, and he was considerably more aware of when he was being prickly. 

But it only continues to change, growing, adapting, evolving, until he's pushing him out of the lab when 11 o' clock rolls around, adamant that he can't stay all night, concerned, still gruff, trying to hide it with eyes downcast (even though Dr. Gearloose stayed until 3 am nearly every day), and he's leaving hot coffee on his desk for him to find every morning

"Not me. Must be the horse beast" But he's smiling, ever so faintly, and Fenton knows he's lying. He lets it be, anyway, not willing to rock the boat.

He was being very nice. Nice for Gyro, at least.

Fenton is certain it has something to do with reconnecting with his past self. Coming to terms with who he used to be seemed to have made him take a close, critical look at who he was now. He suspected it also had something to do with the young boy now so often standing at the man's side, bright eyed and inquisitive and glued to Gyro's hip.

At first, it's a show, he's sure. He's proving something.

There's a shift, in the last couple weeks, though. Imperceptible, almost, but Fenton notices. 

He's heard Gyro laugh more in the last three weeks than he's heard him laugh in the last 3  _ months _ . It's actually a really nice laugh, he thinks, and it's a travesty he hadn't gotten to hear it more up to now.

They sit, in such amiable, comfortable quiet, working on their own projects, and Fenton thinks it's such a shame he, they, have been missing out on this for so long. Company, that's so natural, so amiable, that there's no need for loud, rattling words, meant to fill those so very agonizing, awkward silences.

Fenton's content, seated at his desk, riffling through the central controls of the spherical drone in front of him. He's about to take the cover off the back, when he notices it's sealed using hex screws, which he doesn't have the tool for at the moment. Huh.

"Hey, Gyro?" He calls, head rising upward, turning toward the chicken, who stands hunched over his tablet, distracted, murmuring under his breath.

"Yea?" He says, but he doesn't turn to look at him, still swiping feverishly across the screen in his hands.

"Have you seen the hex driver?"

"What?" He snaps, smashing buttons now.

"The hex driver Gyro? Have you seen it?"

"Oh, yes" He nods with a half distracted hum, "It's on the desk just behind me, Hachimitsu"

Fenton's brow furrows, "What'd you just say?"

He blanches, "It's on the desk. Gah, Fenton, keep up"

Fenton refuses to be dissuaded so soon. He knows what he heard (not what it means, but he knows he heard something).

"No, no, the part at the end. It started with an H?"

"What in the world are you talking about? I didn't say anything else. Are you developing early onset hearing loss? Alzheimers, maybe?"

"No, I heard you, loud and clear. Thanks for the hex driver"

Gyro waves him off, "Whatever. Scram. I'm very busy at the moment, as you can  _ clearly _ see"

* * *

"It's getting late, yes?"

Fenton nods, "Oh Yeah" He glances down at his watch, squinting to see the numbers through the glare the sun casts. "Yeah, I think Boyd should be getting out of school about now, mi carino"

"What?" Gyro's arms cross and his brow furrows and he looks genuinely offended. Movement stuttering out as he stops at a dead halt on the pavement, turning to glare at Fenton. "Are you cursing me out, because if you are I'd prefer you'd do it in English so I can retaliate properly"

Fenton's eyes widen, and his hands are immediately thrown up from where they'd been resting at his sides. Placating. At least as placating as he can manage, palms faced outward, fingers splayed wide, confused smile etched in his beak.

"What, no! It's nothing like that at all. Why would you think-?" The opposite, really.

"I make a lot of people angry, Fenton. It's the price of genius" He has relaxed, somewhat.

"And you are a genius" They both intoned at the same time, one laughing, slightly exasperated, the other smugly satisfied.

Gyro clicks his tongue.

"Yes, I am"

* * *

"It means my darling"

"What?"

"Mi carino. It means my darling. Well, actually, it means a lot of things, including honey, sweetheart, dear, and love, among other things, and all depending on the context it's used in. It's a very efficient, versatile word"

Gyro's speechless, for a moment.

"The hell?"

Fenton gasps, and throws his hands over Boyd's ears. He would have done the same for Lil' Bulb if he weren't halfway across the room, climbing and tumbling across the boxes stored in the closet.

"Gyro, the kids!"

"Apologies. Let me rephrase that. I meant,  _ what _ the hell?"

* * *

"Hachimitsu. That's what I called you"

"What does it mean?"

"Honey. It's Japanese" He looks away, "I uh… honey used to make me sick, and I suppose you have a similar effect on me, so it only fits to uh-"

"I make you sick?"

"Yes. Looking at you makes my stomach tie in knots. And for some odd reason being in your presence for extended periods of time causes my body temperature to rise and my hands to get sweaty, all of which are signs of fever. I also feel somewhat nauseous. And don't even get me started on the delirium-"

Fenton burst into laughter. It's not mean spirited, because everything about the situation, from Gyro's adorably confused expression to the clinical logic he brandishes like a weapon, is simply too precious for it to be anything but fond, as he doubles over, one hand wrapped around his tattered, heaving sides, the other supporting his weight where he's leant up on the desk.

Gyro's hands clench, face hot with indignation and embarrassment and something else, at the sound of his laughter.

"Really, at a time like this? May I remind you that  _ disease _ is no laughing matter. This could be some new, superbug. We have to detain this before-"

Fenton's snatching Gyro's hands into his own before he can say another word, their fingers intertwining, like puzzles pieces meant to fit together, almost, (except, that's stupid. There's no such thing as meant to, as destiny), grip warm and firm. Fenton's smiling giddily, and Gyro's gasping, and he wants to be angry because he's being interrupted for the second time in only two minutes (two!) But he can't, so caught up as he is in those sparkling, nebulas eyes.

They pull him in, deep and enveloping, nothingness and everything, and he wonders how he never noticed before how breathtaking Fenton's eyes were.

He can hardly breath. 

A revelation that should be considerably more frightening than it is.

Why isn't it?

Fenton's still smiling at him, shaking his head, amused, enamored. Gyro wonders what's so entertaining.

"You brilliant, ingenious idiot! You're not sick… you're attracted… to… me" His eyes get wide, as the revelation truly hits him. Reality sinks in: he'd just grabbed his coworker in a sudden show of affection, not to mention suggest he was in love with him, and Gyro's staring down at him, frozen, like a deer on the train tracks. 

Then he's pulling back, backtracking, as if standing a mere foot away erases the display. Gyro simultaneously mourns the loss of contact, of warmth, and scolds himself for liking it (that was stupid too).

"Oh, I… I am so sorry, Dr. Gearloose. I uh… just don't know what came over me. I know you don't like being touched. I just-"

"Shut up, you ingenious idiot" And he throws his arms around him in a sudden, crushing hug.

Fenton returns the gesture with a relieved sigh.

  
  



End file.
